


The Morning Air Brings

by thattrainssailed



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Malec Secret Santa, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 15:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattrainssailed/pseuds/thattrainssailed
Summary: Chatter and ringtones play over the steadying rhythm of steam and liquid, and despite the apparent chaos, everything flows. The sound of the bell tunes to the morning song. Suits, retailers, students, tradies - they all gather to the tempo of Alec’s hands. Through his relentless pattern, Alec keeps his eyes on the door. Waiting. It’s premature, both he and Clary know that, but Alec can’t seem to help his anticipation. The last of the 7:30 rush is always students dragging their feet to school; often it takes Clary shooing them out for them to finally exit and leave the shop empty. Alec keeps himself busy, rinsing and wiping, hands refusing idleness as his eyes keep glancing up at the door.





	The Morning Air Brings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesunsetshope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunsetshope/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Serinity! I hope your like your gift <3

When Clary first started working at  _ Alicafe _ , it was... rocky. Her first barista job coupled with a series of odd and varingly unhelpful coworkers had her convinced she would be fired without a week. Easily the most hostile of the group had been Alec Lightwood, aka six-foot-two of frown and sarcasm. From her first day, it had been as though the flavour of raw coffee beans had stained his fingers down to his soul, leaving behind nothing but bitterness. Indeed, as Clary had struggled with the coffee machines in her first weeks, she had wondered if there had been some kind of bizarre connection between Alec and the drinks, causing her to fuck up over and over as his dislike for her grew.

 

It’s been almost a year since all of that, and as Clary’s skills with coffee have grown, so has her relationship with Alec. True, she wouldn’t necessarily call them  _ friends _ , but they are… friendly. Amiable. Tolerant. Not at each other’s throats  _ at least _ 30% of the time. And as they’ve grown less antagonistic, Clary has begun to notice the nuances of Alec Lightwood. It hasn’t been easy - the man isn’t exactly a sharer - but eleven months of working in close quarters with someone from five in the morning makes one somewhat privy to the private life of the other. She knows about Alec’s siblings, his love for the three of them; she knows of his parents, has a vague outline of their disownership of him upon learning his sexuality, and his more recent reconciliation with his mother; she perhaps understands better than anyone Alec’s approach to people and his particular… distastes.

 

She should, having previously been one of them.

 

It’s sort of baffling, at first glance, that Alec would have sought employment in hospitality given his downright inhospitable attitude. But Alec is very good at his job, covers his competence and care with silence and a scowl. It starts from the moment the store opens, when the first bleary customers stumble through the door at five on the dot, the bell above the frame jingling, and order coffee as dark as the bags beneath their eyes. Clary makes her station at the cash register - she is a barista, but both she and Alec know that in their team of two, it is far better for her to charm and him to make. Alec offers little chat to them  - perhaps owing to his own buffering consciousness - but dutifully prepares their drinks, every now and then adding an extra shot for those who look particularly near to death’s door. Most of them shuffle out the door as soon as a cup warms their hands, but a few take seats and enjoy a moment of quiet before returning to the unforgiving morning. Clary always offers them sympathetic smiles, and usually an attempt is made to return it, but Alec always keeps to his spot behind the machine, rinsing and wiping and recovering for the next wave of customers. His presence is quiet but steady, oddly comforting.

 

When the last of the 5am customers trudge out, Alec always grabs three cups from the stack, scribbles on the side of one, and gets to work on the other two. A latte for Clary, a cappuccino for himself. Occasionally, in the dead of Winter, he will make them hot chocolates as well and add far more marshmallows than is reasonable. Clary has long sworn herself to secrecy on this habit. The third cup sits behind the counter, lovingly tucked away, waiting for its moment.

 

A few customers duck in and out for a while, but it’s not until just after six that the next full batch appears. This group is slightly better rested, although the scowls common to their faces suggests otherwise. Where the 5am lot is resigned to their fate, this crowd is still resentful. They flinch at the bell above the door. Their orders are mumbled, thanks nowhere to be found. Alec always goes completely silent for them - none of them want conversation at this hour. Alec and Clary are faceless drones aiding the start to their day. Alec’s energy matches the subtle hostility radiating from each customer, gruff and stone-faced as he makes each drink and pushes them across the counter to waiting suits. One of them blanches at the heat of his drink and reaches back, goes to grab the cup that Alec carefully set aside thirty minutes prior. They’re met with Alec’s outstretched arm and a glare as he hands them a cardboard sleeve instead. He’s met with a slightly bewildered look, but it is not an hour fit for questions. The suit shuffles out with his brethren until the shop is left empty once again. Clary relaxes and beside her Alec rolls his shoulders.

 

About ten minutes after the end of the rush, without fail, Alec gets a text. His phone is usually tucked away with his bag underneath the counter, but he pulls it out at the same time every day and waits for the pair of buzzes. As the screen lights up, his mouth curves into a small smile and he taps out a reply. Clary pretends not to notice as she fiddles with her own phone, messaging Maia to make sure her girlfriend is awake. Sometimes Alec puts his phone away after a few minutes, and sometimes he keeps smiling and intermittently tapping away until a customer enters the shop. He’s not exactly a chatterbox, but there is extra energy in his movements. Every now and then, as he waits for milk to warm, he glances at the clock on the wall.

 

The 7:30am rush is the biggest of the day. The customers are markedly more polite than the six o’clock bunch, but the long line and the pace of orders leaves little time for pleasantries. Alec works like a magician, cup after cup appearing with sleights of hand that seem impossible. Chatter and ringtones play over the steadying rhythm of steam and liquid, and despite the apparent chaos, everything flows. The sound of the bell tunes to the morning song. Suits, retailers, students, tradies - they all gather to the tempo of Alec’s hands. Through his relentless pattern, Alec keeps his eyes on the door. Waiting. It’s premature, both he and Clary know that, but Alec can’t seem to help his anticipation. The last of the 7:30 rush is always students dragging their feet to school; often it takes Clary shooing them out for them to finally exit and leave the shop empty. Alec keeps himself busy, rinsing and wiping, hands refusing idleness as his eyes keep glancing up at the door.

 

At 8:07am, Alec plucks the cup he set aside and places it under the drip. His brow furrows as it fills with coffee. At 8:08am, he grabs a metal pitcher - always the shiniest one - and carefully heats milk, paying close attention to the thermometre and volume of the steam. At 8:09am, he pours the milk into the cup, hand unwavering as the foam ebbs into a pattern on top.

 

At 8:10am, the bell above the door jingles. In steps a men in royal red jacket and tight black pants, gold jewellery kissing his collar and wrist and knuckles, heeled boots clicking satisfyingly on the wooden floor of the shop. His black hair is styled tall and spiky, adding at minimum another few inches to his height. Makeup touches his golden skin, black kohl especially striking against his dark eyes, He greets Clary with a smile that she returns.

 

“Morning biscuit,” he says, but his gaze is not on her. Instead he beams across the counter at Alec, who answers with a grin that scrunches his eyes. The man approaches until he is flush against the bench and still he keeps leaning forward, meeting Alec in the middle for a soft kiss.

 

“Good morning Alexander,” he says quietly, and Alec pecks his lips again. Between them sits a lovingly prepared cup of coffee, a heart poured into the foam on top, the name “Magnus” written on the side. The man picks it up, takes a sip, and lets out a sigh.

 

“Thank you darling.” Alec’s smile widens.

 

“Have a good day,” he tells Magnus. They exchange another kiss and Magnus turns and walks out of the shop, Alec’s eyes never leaving him as he disappears into the street beyond the window. A small smile still on his face, Alec returns to the machine, busying himself with knobs and pipes. He doesn’t look up again until another customer enters, and the happiness remains on his face through cup after cup.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! The title comes from Riches and Wonders by The Mountain Goats. I'm over on tumblr at thattrainssailed.


End file.
